


Caught You

by AmyriadfthINGs



Series: Punk Band AU [4]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Punk, Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 21:19:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5390813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyriadfthINGs/pseuds/AmyriadfthINGs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here be smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught You

**Author's Note:**

> Much obliged to the lovely [amoama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amoama) for cleaning up my smutty mess and helpful suggestions regarding stream of consciousness during blowjobs. <3 Any remaining mud stains or errors are my own fault.

Stan stumbles along the wall behind the festival´s portable toilet area. It´s muddy and it smells. It´s fair to say he´s drunk. Whatever was in that schnapps that girl – Lagertha was her name – offered him did a thorough job. Now his head won´t stay on straight, and he´s swaying from side to side like a buoy torn loose in stormy waters. 

Walking is hard. He looks down at his feet and tries to put one foot in front of the other. How do models do it? He adds a little hip action to his slippery runway performance and giggles to himself.

Someone else is laughing at him. Someone very close to him, because suddenly there is hot breath at his neck and the smell of beer and a gravelly voice made rougher by tearing through a 45-minute long set on a festival stage like a madman. 

Or like a Flying Norseman, in this case. For some reason, there´s only one person this can be, and even in his drunk state, Stan is perfectly clear on this. After all, didn´t Lagertha say…

He shudders. The man who must be Ragnar is speaking and he´s trying to focus on what he´s saying. Wait, is he singing? The same line as earlier? “If I invite you, will you come?” – the one he kept repeating to him on stage. At least it felt like he was only singing it to him, although there was of course a whole audience between them. But it was for him, wasn´t it? That thought makes Athelstan giggle again. Who even does something like that? 

“What are you doing?“ Ragnar slurs in his ear. 

“Are you following me?” Stan replies bluntly, because that seems important to know. He turns around unsteadily, somehow ending up on one leg. He reaches out both hands, trying not to fall, and grabs Ragnar by the biceps. 

When he drops his hands they´re standing comically close, but they´re also a little too drunk to care or do anything about it. Stan does enjoy the close-up view of Ragnar´s eyes, oh yes, and oh, his lips. It makes focusing on his surroundings difficult. Those eyes are just so close and focused on him and they´re surprisingly bright and piercing. It´s hard. Everything is hard like that.

Ragnar goes ahead and closes the remaining gap between them. Stan isn´t even surprised. It´s a lot of Ragnar, but he welcomes it fully. It might be that being drunk helps with that, too. Or maybe there´s not much he could have done anyway.

His arms are sort of hanging down by his sides, but since that means they are also close to Ragnar´s legs, that is where they go. Touching Ragnar´s legs. Ragnar who is looking at him with a satisfied lop-sided grin, like he´s been right about something all along and wants to run off and spread the news. No, there´ll be no running off, Stan decides.

He digs his fingertips in to make that clear. Ragnar´s grin slips, his mouth falls open and his eyes drop down to Stan´s lips. Oh. Stan wants Ragnar´s eyes to stay there, please. He´s fascinated by the way it makes them feel, his lips. Like they are suddenly more present or glowing in the dark or magnetic. Maybe they smell sweet like flowers to a bee to Ragnar? He´s cracking himself up again.

“What´s so funny now?” Ragnar´s eyes under his crinkled brow remain focused on Stan´s lips. Good.

“I think my lips are flowers,” Stan says. Then his eyes go wide and he wonders why he just said that, and also if that makes Ragnar a bee. He bites his lip.

Ragnar squints at him as if trying to figure him out, but must find he is too drunk for that and instead goes right for where the honey is, figuratively speaking.

Everything Stan tastes is Ragnar and he tries and fails to wrap his head around that. Instead he gives in to his mouth being the new center of his body where everything rushes in at once. Stubble, lips, tongue, oh yeah, more tongue.

His hands shoot up to grab Ragnar´s face, because he needs to hold Ragnar in place. And feel him under his fingers. 

It´s hard to keep his balance in the mud and– ah, that´s the brick wall hitting his back. He keeps his hands clamped around Ragnars neck, his brain chanting ´Tongue, tongue, is this happening? Don´t brain me against the wall, please, tongue, more, Jesus, he´s determined, oh god´.

After a while Ragnar ceases the full-on assault on his mouth and pulls back a little, lazily dipping in and out, tasting Stan´s upper and lower lips, just as he pleases, with his full mouth, like he´s testing him, trying him out, while also giving him everything he has. It´s as if he´s convincing him of something.

Ragnar´s hair feels funny in the back, Stan notices - his fingertips tangle with braids there and he wants to mess with them. How does a guy who looks like he rolls out of bed in the afternoon and doesn´t think twice about the pants he steps into have braids that neat? It´s totally unfair and ridiculous and also a serious turn-on, he thinks, as Ragnar presses close again, with his whole body.

Speaking of, he must have been rather loud, because a smirk has just popped up in front of his face. He thinks he heard himself, like an echo, very vocal about being turned on. He cringes inwardly.

This smirk of Ragnar´s he thinks he would maybe hate under different circumstances, although probably not for long. It would irritate him at first and make him hot in the stomach next, and Ragnar would know, and that wouldn´t help at all.

Stan bangs his head against the wall, breaking free for now. “Hi,” he tries – “Hi.” Ragnar looks down, his hand gliding under Stan´s already bunched-up shirt and gracefully - how, Stan wants to know - he gets down on his knees and Stan´s belt comes off in one smooth move, surrendering with a useless jingling sound just as Stan´s head meets the wall again.

“Your hair, it´s too neat,” he manages. “Yeah?” Ragnar looks positively evil down there, kneeling in front of Stan´s freed cock, half covered in shadows, light from a lamp around the corner hitting his eyes just so to give them a glint. Stan groans helplessly.

And then he groans louder, because Ragnar´s lips close around his dick, and how is he supposed to get air into his body when this is happening?

He can hear Ragnar now, too. Shit. He´s obviously enjoying himself down there and to make things so much worse, the vibrations of his clipped, low moans shoot right through Stan, up and down his body, like it doesn´t know what to do with them.

It takes a few seconds for Stan to bring his lolling head under control. He deserves a medal for even trying, he thinks. There should be medals handed out for controlling more than two absolutely necessary limbs during a sloppy, hot, drunk, amazing blowjob given by guys with unfair braids. 

But he just has to see it, confirm that it´s really happening. Ragnar´s head is starting to move with verve now and, even better, Stan´s cock is moving fast in Ragnar´s mouth. It´s hot, unreal, merciless. Then he hits the back of Ragnar´s throat for the first time and Ragnar looks up at him. His eyes are dazed, but they still twinkle. Royal fucking bastard.

“Nnnnggh.” Oh god. Stan never wants it to stop. 

“I´m… I´m…” He tries to warn Ragnar. – “Yeah” is the reply as Ragnar slips off clumsily, his voice breathless and hoarse, but also confident, the little shit. Like he can´t wait. Like he needs this, too. 

Still looking up at him with his impossible but determined eyes, Ragnar opens up again and takes him all the way back down his throat. He keeps him there where it´s tight, where he´s got nowhere to go, even pushes at him to get closer and that does it. Stan shakes to the core, he´s going, going, absolutely fucking gone. 

After a little while he notices his hips are still moving and Ragnar´s hands have him safely pinned to the wall. His mouth is still not going anywhere.

Stan exhales and sags. He´s not saying he could cry, but if that wasn´t the best blowjob he´s had this month. Or year. Oh boy. If he´s not opening his eyes again, he might not be ruined. 

The mouth is slipping off. Stan notices the cold hitting where he´s wet, the hard bricks in his back, his shoes slipping in the mud as he´s trying to right himself.

He rallies. “So, I can´t look at you right now, but this was amazing. Uh, could you maybe point me around the corner towards the exit? Then I can walk home, alone, with no one to see me and this. That… would be really, really great.” He is almost sure he can make it.

“Are you sure you want to leave already? Lagertha would really like to meet you properly, you know.” Ragnar nuzzles his stomach, so that his beard scratches and tickles his soft skin and makes Stan gasp. Then Mr. Smooth climbs up his body to get up, still elegant as fuck. At least Ragnar has the decency to sway on his feet for a moment. He puts out a hand to lean on the wall for support. “Stay. Please. Only for tonight?” He has that look again, like he needs him somehow.

With his eyes mostly closed and a finger hooked into Ragnar´s belt, Stan stumbles off a moment later, to the band´s bus. Only for tonight.


End file.
